


The Harlan Job

by romanticalgirl



Category: Justified, Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Eliot had a friend in the Army Rangers. Time to introduce him to the family.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my darling [maurheti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maurheti/pseuds/maurheti) for beta and encouragement.

Despite having lived there – or because he lived there – Eliot is not a particular fan of Kentucky. The booze is good, but when he’s in the Appalachians, he feels like he’s a couple of blocks away from a _Deliverance_ re-enactment. It’s hot and it’s humid and most of the people are either poor coal miners or rich criminals.

The latter is the reason the team is here in Harlan, the reason Eliot’s in this bar. He’s supposed to meet an old contact – not _exactly_ a friend – and try to get a little more information. He neglected to tell Nate that his contact was an Army Ranger and is currently US Marshal.

Some things Nate doesn’t need to know beforehand.

“You look like a damn hippie.”

Eliot smirks and lifts his glass to his lips. “Can’t all wear it high and tight.”

“I don’t, asshole.”

Eliot turns his head and smiles. “You want a drink?”

“I want to know why I shouldn’t just arrest you right now.”

“Well.” Eliot signals the bartender, tapping his glass then holding up two fingers. “I would imagine it’s because you’re curious. Or you think this is likely to be mutually beneficial. Or, and this one’s just a stab in the dark, I saved your ass in Myanmar.”

“Bullshit you saved my ass.”

“Not that there’s much to save.”

“I should have let Cooper shoot you in Nigeria.”

“I was never in Nigeria.” Eliot raises his eyebrows and his glass, unable to stop grinning. “Gutterson.”

The other glass clinks against his. “Spencer.”

**

“So your team’s here tomorrow?” Tim finishes his second drink and turns his stool, leaning back against the bar, elbows on the surface of it. 

“Yeah.”

“So, we should probably talk logistics?”

“Might be easier than with all of them around. They’re...something.” 

“Let’s go then.” Tim gets out his wallet and drops money on the bar for the tab. Eliot slides off the bar stool, following Tim out to his truck. “What happened to your bike?”

“I’m working on it. And I’m not riding on it with you.” Tim unlocks the doors and slides into the driver’s seat. Eliot climbs in, and Tim pulls out of the parking lot. “Just so you know, one of my co-workers has explicit instructions on what to do if I don’t show up at work tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“You’re a very bad man, remember?”

“And you’re not?”

“Given our lines of work, I’m pretty sure I’m the good guy.”

“Given my current line of work, so am I.” Eliot leans back against the seat. “Where are we headed?”

“Safe house. Swept this morning and under guard all day. They’re off duty as soon as we pull in. It’s all set up for your team.”

“Sure you don’t want to just throw me in a cell?”

“Trust me, you’re less bother than the usual shit I have to deal with. I work with Raylan Givens.”

Eliot straightens up. “Shit. You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Tim makes the last syllable pop. “He’s faster than me, but I’m a better shot.”

“Is he faster than me?”

Tim glances over at Eliot and shakes his head. “How ‘bout we don’t find out.”

They head up a long driveway to a disgustingly suburban ranch house. Eliot only sees the guards fade into the shadows because he knows what he’s looking for, but he waits for Tim’s all-clear signal before getting out of the truck. The porch light is on and bright on the black lacquered door. Tim fishes out a set of keys, using two of them to unlock the three locks. 

“Stop your damn smirking.” Tim warns him as the door finally opens. Eliot moves inside, senses on high alert despite Tim’s precautions. They both do a sweep, giving each other dirty looks whenever they pass. Tim goes to the kitchen when they’re done, snagging two beers from the fridge. He sinks down next to Eliot on the couch and hands one of the bottles to him, tapping his own against it. 

It’s quiet for a long time, only the sounds of them drinking, beer sloshing in the bottle. After about fifteen minutes of it, Eliot reaches up and pulls out his ear-bud.

Eyebrows going up, Tim bites back a laugh. “What the hell is that?”

“Comm. Works off vibrations. Hardison made ‘em.” Eliot shrugs and sets his beer down. “Apparently it’s the age of the geek.”

“Not down here.”

“Yeah?” Eliot kicks off his shoes and puts his stocking feet up on the coffee table, ignoring Tim’s look. “What’s it the age of down here?”

“Same as always. Age of the good ol’ boy.”

“Good to know some things never change.”

“Better if they did.” Tim relaxes back, settling on the sofa cushions before cutting his eyes toward Eliot. He takes a sip of his beer then sets it on the table next to Eliot’s. “So. We done talkin’?”

This time it’s Eliot’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Could be.”

“Good.” Tim stands up and steps over Eliot’s outstretched legs, heading away from him. Eliot takes a deep breath and centers himself before standing, staring at Tim for a minute before he moves, tackling him to the floor.

Tim grunts and goes down, struggling and fighting against Eliot. He rears backward, pushing Eliot onto his back. Eliot shoves Tim off of him, grabbing him and pushing him down again, this time onto his back. Tim looks up at him, eyes bright, neither of them even slightly out of breath.

“Spencer.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Make me.”

Kissing Tim is like jumping off a building – dangerous and exhilarating. It’s never easy. Tim’s mouth tastes hot with whiskey, cool with beer. His tongue slides across Eliot’s before he captures it, sucking on it hard before pulling back. He catches Eliot’s lower lip tight between his teeth, worrying it before he sucks on it as well.

Eliot grinds down against him, and Tim spreads his legs, settling Eliot between them. Eliot pins Tim’s wrists against the floor as he breaks the kiss, moving down to the arch of Tim’s throat.

“Fuck,” Tim groans, voice rough. He pushes against Eliot's grip. “C’mon.”

“Got time,” Eliot whispers against Tim’s throat. “Shut up.”

“Not...not that. Christ.” Tim hooks his leg around the back of Eliot’s. “Just don’t stop.”

“Feel like I’m stopping anytime soon?” Eliot bites the tendon in Tim’s neck, licking the mark he leaves behind. He slides a hand down along Tim’s thigh, pushing their legs tighter together. “Taking my time with you.”

Other than their first time, every one of their fucks has been frantic and rushed, running hot and high on danger and adrenaline. The first time had been slow and drunk and Eliot buried deep. He has every intention of making this time last given that they’re alone and, as of yet, no one’s shooting at them.

Tim exhales roughly, thrusting up against Eliot. His breath shudders with the increased pressure, with Eliot’s mouth moving over his skin. Tim tastes like sweat and salt and soap, coal dust and thick Kentucky air.

Shifting his grip, Eliot rubs his thumbs over Tim’s wrists, his pulse beating hard beneath his skin. He bites Tim’s jawline, tracing his tongue along the curve of it. “Tell me you came prepared.”

“Tell you I – fuck – knew you were going to jump me?”

Eliot shifts back, sliding his hands down Tim’s arms, his sides before curving them under his thighs. He pulls him closer, spreads him wider. “Complainin’?”

Tim grabs Eliot’s shirt and pulls him down, wrapping his free hand around the back of Eliot’s neck and holding him there as he kisses Eliot again. Eliot tastes blood as Tim bites his lip hard, breaking the skin. Tim’s tongue works against it so all Eliot can feel is the sting.

Their dicks are lined up as Eliot rolls his hips. The pressure feels perfect as he finds his rhythm, Tim moving with him. The kiss falls apart and Eliot licks his lips. Tim’s are smeared red with Eliot’s blood. Eliot goes back onto his knees and runs his hand down Tim’s chest, fingers catching on each button. When he reaches Tim’s belt, he tugs his shirt free then starts unbuttoning it from the bottom, leaning in to leave a hot trail of breath up Tim’s abdomen and chest.

Tim’s hands slide along Eliot’s sides, up and down several times before he catches Eliot’s t-shirt and tugs it over his head. Eliot pulls away and lifts his arms so Tim can work it off of him, then his hands rub against Tim’s skin as he pushes the two sides of Tim’s shirt apart.

Tim’s skin is a map of scars, and Eliot traces the sharp, silvery line just above Tim’s left nipple. Tim’s thighs tighten against Eliot’s in response, and his head hits the floor. “Still sensitive there?”

“Well, if some asshole h-hadn’t stabbed me quite so deep...” Tim’s voice is ragged, breathless. Whatever else he might have said gets lost in a groan when Eliot sucks the skin along the edges of the scar. 

“Asshole, huh?” Eliot moves down and takes Tim’s nipple between his teeth, moving them from side to side and grinding lightly. Tim fists his hands in Eliot’s hair, pulling hard. Eliot bites Tim in retaliation, growling around the tender skin. Tim doesn’t release him and Eliot finally relents, flicking the hard nub with his tongue.

Tim keeps thrusting up, both legs wrapped around Eliot’s, his heels digging into the back of Eliot’s thighs. His hands drop to Eliot’s arms, fingers digging hard into the muscle enough that Eliot knows he’ll have bruises. His body hardens further at the thought, and he huffs a hot breath on Tim’s wet skin before moving to his other nipple. He teases it until he feels Tim’s breath catch, then he moves against Tim’s grip, licking a trail along Tim’s breastbone, over his abs to his belt.

Eliot breathes against the hard bulge in Tim’s jeans as he works his belt open, leather easing free of the buckle. Tim’s hips rise off the floor and Eliot hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging Tim’s jeans down to his upper thighs.

Tim pulls his knee back toward his chest, getting his foot on Eliot’s thigh and shoving him back. Eliot goes easily, kneeling in front of Tim and unbuckling his own belt, pushing his jeans open but not off. Tim kicks off his shoes and jeans, but Eliot reaches out to stop him before he pulls off his boxer briefs. Tim huffs and discards his shirt, getting to his knees and, moving forward, slots his knee between both of Eliot's, fingers tracing Eliot’s own scars. 

Eliot closes his eyes as Tim’s dick presses against his thigh, as Tim’s mouth finds the hollow beneath Eliot’s ear, breath hot, mouth wet. Eliot groans, reaching down to cup Tim’s cock. Tim slides a hand over Eliot’s hip, inside his jeans, and curves it along Eliot’s ass.

Eliot pushes Tim away and back down to the floor. There’s a wet spot spreading on Tim’s boxer briefs, and Eliot can feel his dick straining against his zipper at the sight. He kneels between Tim’s legs and undoes his own jeans, shoving them down to mid-thigh. Eliot pushes Tim’s knees apart and moves between them. His hands lift Tim’s thighs to rest on Eliot’s shoulders, and he rubs his rough stubble against the soft skin. 

Tim’s muscles tighten, hips lifting off the floor when Eliot repeats the gesture along the other thigh. Eliot looks up and Tim’s eyes are dark and hot. Eliot smiles and faces him, slipping a little closer, breathing against Tim’s covered dick.

“Fuck,” Tim groans. Eliot crowds in further, his mouth moving lower, tongue rasping against the fabric over Tim’s balls, down to his perineum. Tim’s fingers scrabble against the floor as his breath shudders roughly. He manages to grab his jeans, fumbling in the pockets. His breath catches as Eliot’s teeth catch the fabric, scraping Tim’s balls. “Here. Here.”

Eliot reaches out to take the condom and packet of lube from Tim. “Knew you were a Boy Scout.”

Tim huffs a breathless laugh. “You complaining?”

Eliot licks a stripe up the length of Tim’s cock in response, spending extra time tonguing the wet spot.

“Christ.” Tim’s head hits the floor again. He’s breathing heavily, his body thrusting upward. Eliot grabs the waistband of Tim’s boxer briefs and tugs them down. Tim moves his legs so Eliot can get them off of him, spreading himself even wider as Eliot tosses them aside. 

“Look at you.” Eliot’s voice is raspy and rough in his throat. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Tim’s dick, stroking it slowly.

Tim braces his heels against the floor to thrust up for more. Eliot laughs low, the sound rumbling through his chest. He rubs his thumb over the head of Tim’s dick, smearing pre-come over the smooth skin. He looks at Tim through his lashes as he lowers his head. His tongue licks away the sticky residue. Eliot smirks as Tim groans, barely letting the sound end before he takes Tim in his mouth.

Tim’s cock is hot, the weight of it heavy on Eliot’s lower lip and tongue. Tim rakes his fingers through Eliot's hair, nails digging into his scalp. Eliot closes his mouth tightly around Tim, suction holding him between the roof of Eliot’s mouth and his tongue. 

“Su-such...asshole,” Tim gasps. Eliot moves his head slowly side to side, stubble scratching against Tim’s balls. Tim’s whole body jerks. “Ha-hate you.”

Eliot hums a laugh along Tim’s dick and Tim shudders. Without giving him time to recover, Eliot eases the pressure slightly and starts moving, wet heat sliding along the length of Tim’s cock. Tim breathes hard, his body thrusting, driving deeper into Eliot’s mouth. Eliot doesn’t stop, hands finding Tim’s slim hips and pulling him closer. He closes his eyes, feeling tears wet his lashes, saliva seeping from the edges of his open mouth down to his chin, his mouth feeling swollen and bruised.

Tim is making thick, hungry noises as he wraps a leg over Eliot’s back, heel digging into Eliot’s ass. The pressure pushes Eliot’s cock hard against the floor, and he grinds against it as he pulls back slowly, the head of Tim’s cock catching on his lower lip. 

Tim chokes back a groan as Eliot takes him in his mouth again, sucking tightly at the head, his tongue pushing against the slit. “F-fuck. Fuck. Eliot.” Tim sounds wrecked and Eliot sucks him tighter. “Fuck, please.”

Eliot pulls off Tim’s cock, letting it settle on his stubbled chin. “Please what?” Before Tim can answer, Eliot takes the head back between his lips, resuming the tight pressure. Tim gasps, arching into Eliot’s mouth. Pressure keeps Tim from going deeper, and Eliot uses Tim’s distraction to open the lube and slick up his fingers.

He eases the tightness around Tim’s cock and lets it slide in deeper, head pressing to the back of Eliot’s throat. Eliot brushes his finger over Tim’s hole, wetness coating the puckered skin.

“Jesus Christ.” Tim chokes out. He shudders as Eliot pushes one finger inside him slowly, resuming the tight suction around Tim’s cock to keep him off balanced, overwhelmed. Tim tenses as Eliot gets his finger deeper. He’s tight and hot and Eliot wonders briefly when the last time Tim did this was. He pulls off Tim’s dick, letting it ease from his mouth and slide across his rough cheek.

Tim relaxes at the loss of pressure, and Eliot pushes his finger deeper, stilling as Tim clenches. Tim whimpers, his body still moving, sliding his flushed, sticky, wet cock on Eliot’s face. Eliot licks at the base of it down to the perineum, catching skin between his teeth. Tim’s back arches and he releases Eliot’s hair, slamming his fist against the floor as Eliot works another finger in.

Tim’s cock leaks and Eliot feels it smear against his cheek. He turns his head and licks the drop of pre-come off the tip. Tim’s head hits the floor again as Eliot spreads his fingers, opening Tim up slowly. It’s hard to concentrate, his own cock throbbing painfully. The front of his boxer briefs are as wet as Tim’s had been, and he reaches down with his free hand and rubs himself, trying to relieve some of the pressure for him as he builds it for Tim.

Tim spreads himself wider, and Eliot can see the strain, the tightness of his skin between his hips and his dick. Eliot works a third finger in, curving them slightly before straightening them, spreading them again. Tim makes a sound that Eliot would never give him shit about, and a pool of wetness gathers on Tim’s stomach. 

Eliot pushes his boxer briefs down over his dick and then pulls the condom from the package, glad he’d opened it at the same time he’d opened the lube. He works it on one handed, coating it with the last of the lube and then eases his hand back, fingers slipping out of Tim despite the hard clench of Tim’s muscles.

Eliot rubs the head of his cock over the slick surface of Tim’s hole before he pushes forward, slow and easy, letting Tim adjust to him, the girth and length decidedly different than his fingers. Tim grabs at Eliot’s arms, no doubt leaving behind more bruises as Eliot seats himself, dick deep inside. 

Eliot meets Tim’s dark eyes and smiles. He can practically hear Tim cussing him out even though he’s not making a sound. At least until Eliot starts to move. The sound is thick, molten as it works its way down Eliot’s spine. It coils at the base of his cock and he starts moving, slow thrusts dissolving into the heady pace of need. Eliot braces himself on his elbows, feeling Tim hot and tight around him, feeling the slick slide of Tim’s dick trapped between them. 

Tim is breathing roughly, panting against Eliot’s neck as he pushes up, taking Eliot deeper. Eliot lowers his head and sucks on Tim’s earlobe, feeling Tim shudder beneath him, feeling the hot spill of Tim’s come between them. 

Eliot raises himself to his hands, changing the angle and starts fucking harder into Tim. Tim’s flushed and sweaty, lips parted, and lashes dark. His chest heaves with every breath and Eliot burns the image into his memory. He knows he’s getting close. His muscles tense in his arms and shoulders, his thighs tight. Tim’s body tightens around him and he reaches around to grab Eliot’s ass, fingers digging in. Eliot grunts softly as he comes, leaning forward and feeling Tim’s thighs tighten against Eliot’s sides. 

They lie there for a long moment, both of them steadying their breathing. Eliot can feel the sweat cooling on his back, Tim’s come cooling on his stomach. Tim offers Eliot a ghost of a smile. “Welcome home.”

“Kentucky’s not home.” It’s not. Not anymore.

Tim shrugs, tightening around Eliot’s softening cock as he does. “Welcome back.”

**

Eliot showers after Tim leaves to get food, changing into sweats and a tank top. He texts Hardison the address of the safe house and Parker calls to tell him they’re about ten hours away and Lucille is like Best Buy on wheels. 

The Thai food is about what Eliot expects of Thai food from Kentucky, and he manages to get some of it down before pushing it all toward Tim. Tim just laughs and bags it all up. “I’ll see you in the morning? Or you need me to stay here and protect you tonight?”

“I think I can handle it.”

“Well, just don’t accidentally kill someone or something. Despite popular belief, people frown on that around here.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He shuts and locks the door behind Tim and does another sweep of the house before lying on one of the beds. It’s quiet in a different way than Eliot’s used to anymore, the kind of quiet that sounds with bugs and owls and the suburban wildlife surrounding him. He doesn’t expect to sleep, but he does manage about an hour and a half before the team shows up on the heels of Tim and Raylan Givens.

Eliot’s heard of Raylan Givens. Everyone who’s worked on the wrong side of the law has heard of Raylan Givens. He’s got a reputation that, from everything Eliot’s heard, he completely deserves. And Tim’s assessment the previous night just makes Eliot believe it all the more. That means Eliot respects him. It doesn’t mean he’s afraid of him. Especially when he meets him.

“The hat? Really?” He mutters to Tim as Raylan walks into the safe house. “What is it with these guys and hats?”

Tim bites his lips together – to keep from saying anything, Eliot guesses. Raylan tips his hat to Sophie and Parker, nods to Nate and Hardison, then looks at Eliot. His eyes darken, narrow into slits. “Spencer.”

“Marshal.”

“You owe me a badge.”

Nate raises an eyebrow, but Eliot ignores him. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” He gestures around the room. “This is my team. We’re here to help.”

“No,” Raylan informs him flatly, obviously reserving his charm for everyone else in the room. “We’re both after the same objective. Rather than work at odds to each other, I’m allowing you to run counterpart to our mission. I’m in charge of this.”

Tim manages to turn his snort into a cough, but Eliot’s mouth twitches anyway. Nate glances at Eliot and then back at Raylan. “We both want the same things here.”

“But you don’t exactly intend on bringing them about in a strictly legal way.”

This time Tim doesn’t even bother to hide his snort. “Pretty sure that moral high ground – what little there is – is eroding under your feet as we speak, Raylan.”

“Marshal.” Nate stands up and holds his hands open out in front of him. “Legal means haven’t exactly proven fruitful in bringing Evan Prior to justice. I promise, he’s all yours once we bring him down. We’re not actually interested in credit. Avoid it as much as we can, actually.”

Raylan rubs his hand over his mouth then cuts his eyes to Tim. “He’s on your team for this.”

“No, he isn’t,” Tim says immediately. “I’m a _Marshal_ , Raylan. Breaking the law is sort of what I _don’t_ do. You’d know that if you actually followed any of the rules.”

“I want you watching them.” He glances at the rest of the team and points at Sophie. “We’ll trade.”

“He’s cute,” Parker says, breaking the silence that follows Raylan’s announcement. “Dumb, but cute.”

“We’re a team,” Eliot says before Raylan can react. “Five-man crew. We all have our jobs to do. Six doesn’t work and neither does four and someone who’s working against his instincts. We’ll run it out of this safe house. Tim can stay here if he wants, or one or both of you can check in.” Eliot doesn’t look away from Raylan, holding his glare with one of his own. “Like it or not, we’re bringing Prior down. You don’t want to work with us, or work around us, then we’ll walk right out of here. And you can just pick up the pieces when we’re done.”

Eliot can see Sophie looking at him, her eyebrows raised. Eliot’s not one for eloquent speeches, and his threats tend to be more of a warning of violence. Raylan doesn’t look away when he speaks. “This goes sideways, Tim, you’re explaining it to Art.” Raylan turns on his heel, obviously smarting – either from Eliot’s dressing down or from the fact that he didn’t get to run the room – and, probably, doesn’t hear Tim.

“I explain everything to Art,” he stage-whispers to Eliot. “Most of the time the explanation is just ‘Raylan’.”

Eliot looks over at the rest of his team, all of them moving furniture around to set up their command base. “I know exactly what you mean.”

**

Prior is neck-deep in some seriously bad shit. He’s diversified his evil, as Parker says, fingers in every sort of sordid business he can find. It’s actually going to be a pleasure to take him down. Tim sits in on the briefing, looking impressed. Eliot smiles, since Hardison’s barely even trying to be impressive. Or maybe he’s always impressive and Eliot’s just gotten used to it. 

“I’m going to give you a pass on the actual magazine articles, but other than that, was any of what I just saw legal?” Tim’s staring at the four monitors Hardison had brought in from Lucille, eyes roaming over the financial records on the screens. 

“Sort of.” Parker nods. “Because we’re using it for not-evil.”

“You mean good?” Tim asks.

Parker looks from him to Sophie, who gives her the slightest of nods. “Sure. That works.”

Eliot shrugs in response. “You get used to it.” The look Tim gives him in return makes it very clear he doubts that. A lot. “So what’s the plan, Nate?”

“Well, despite the laundry list of things to go after this guy for, I think our best bet is the sex trafficking. It’s the most immediate and most dangerous.” He nods to himself and then at Sophie. “Spanish Fly?”

“Nu-uh,” Hardison shakes his head. “Shit’s dangerous, man. I blister easily.”

“We don’t actually _use_ it, Hardison.”

“I don’t care. It’s dangerous. None of the other ones sound dangerous.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “But they _are_. Just...explain the con.”

“Should I hear this part?” Tim asks.

“I really doubt anyone’s going to use it on you, so it’s really not any breach of thief-law etiquette if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nate stands up and walks over to the screens. “The basic gist of it is-”

“We trap him in his own web.” Sophie rolls her eyes slightly, making sure it’s out of Nate’s line of sight. 

“Then why isn’t it called the Spanish spider?” Parker frowns. “And why is it Spanish? We’re in Kentucky.”

Tim tilts his head in toward Eliot. “Always like this?”

“Yep.”

“It’s like life with Raylan. Times four.”

“So you don’t ever get to bitch to me again.” Eliot listens to Sophie try to explain the etymology of the con’s name to Parker then leans in toward Tim. “And you pay the bar tab after this job. Which is going to be huge.”

“You guys are big drinkers, huh?”

Hardison’s arguing the chemical composition of Spanish Fly and Sophie’s still trying to explain to Parker. Eliot shakes his head. “You guys? Hell, I’m just talkin’ about _mine_.” After another minute, Eliot blows out an exasperated breath. “Would you all shut up so one of you can tell us how we’re running the damn con.”

**

Tim sits on a stool on the opposite side of the counter from the kitchen, watching Eliot cook. He’s quiet, but Eliot can feel Tim’s eyes on his back, and Eliot can feel heat snaking through his blood, all of it too much like foreplay. Tim’s never seen him cook and, as always, doing it for someone in particular makes it all that much more personal, more of an exposure.

“You’re a man of many hidden talents, Spencer.”

“Yep.”

Tim laughs and taps the counter in a steady rhythm. It’s like a metronome and Eliot can feel his heart, his breathing matching the beat. “Modesty not among them.”

Eliot laughs too. “Nope.”

“So, which one of them are you sleeping with?”

Eliot stops stirring and turns around. “Pardon?”

He’s not sure what Tim sees in his face, but he holds his hands up in front of him. “Sorry. I just got the impression there was something going on.”

“Hardison and Parker are together. Nate and Sophie are together.” Eliot shrugs and goes back to stirring. “Which is why it’s gonna be my job to play the client.”

“You got a girlfriend?”

“Were you here yesterday?”

Tim nods. “Right. Honor. Courage...”

“That’s the _Navy_.” Tim laughs and Eliot doesn’t even look at him to flip him off. “Besides, Marines would work better.”

“Always faithful.” Eliot hears Tim slide off his stool and can feel him walk around the counter. He leans on the cabinet next to Eliot and looks at him. “Any of your friends know?”

“No. It’s none of their business.”

“Would they think that?” Tim’s smile is genuine, which is the only reason Eliot doesn’t punch him. “Or are you worried what they’d think? Because I gotta say, they seem more loyal than that.”

“It’s nobody’s business.” The timer goes off and Eliot tilts the spoon in Tim’s direction. “Stir.”

“Aye, aye.” 

“ _Not the damn Navy_.”

Tim laughs and stirs while Eliot takes the roast out of the oven. Eliot sets the roaster down and picks up the baster, coating the roast with its own juices, and tests the potatoes and carrots with a fork. “Smells good.”

“Wait’ll you taste it.” Hardison comes in and takes over Tim’s stool. “Eliot is amazing.”

“He makes good food.” Parker follows Hardison and boosts herself up on the counter, ignoring Eliot’s growl. “Better than cereal and popcorn.”

“Of course it’s better than...” Eliot takes a deep breath and takes the spoon back from Tim. “Someone set the damn table.” Tim gets the dishes out of the cupboards and hands them to Hardison. Parker hops off the counter into the kitchen and opens drawers until she finds the silverware. “Let Nate and Sophie know, huh?”

“Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate! Sophiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Parker yells out their names and Eliot flinches.

“Not like that, Parker!”

“Oh.” She shrugs and walks around the counter, a bounce in her step. Tim laughs and Eliot elbows him in the stomach. 

“I like ‘em, Eliot.”

“I hate you.”

**

The mark is seriously making Eliot reconsider his stance on killing people.

Sophie’s a high-class Madam looking for girls, Nate’s a purveyor of prime white girls ready for transport wherever Prior would like them to go. Eliot’s the client, looking for someone to fill his stables – the different kind than you normally find in Kentucky. Eliot manages to say the line and sound like he’s serious and not disgusted, which means he’d better get the award for best grifter this time around. 

Not that they’re having a competition or anything.

Prior leads Eliot into a room off his office, and he can tell that it’s shielded given that his ear-bud goes dead. He’s not surprised, but he is annoyed, given that it means Hardison getting into his database is probably going to be harder than they expected.

“So, Mr. Abraham.” Prior smiles and Eliot’s reminded of Norman Bates at the end of Psycho. Or the Grinch. “You’re looking for girls. What kind of girls?”

“The information I received said that you have the best. You need something beyond that?”

“Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Thin? Fat? Short? Tall? I have everything you could possibly want.”

Eliot coughs, pushing down the threat of bile and remembers that their client’s daughter was taken from her school. Elementary school. “Everything?” Eliot raises an eyebrow and glances around the room. It’s empty except for a mahogany desk that’s probably too strong for even Eliot to break into pieces, a chair that matches it, and a sleek laptop. 

“Ah. I see I’ve heard right. You’re a man of discerning tastes.” Prior moves over to the computer and taps the keys. Eliot watches, memorizing his key strokes. The screen comes to life and there are eight pictures on the screen. Eliot takes the chair and sits down, leaning in. “As you can see, Mr. Abraham. Everything.”

None of the girls can be older than ten and Eliot’s seriously going to be sick. They’re all dressed like proper schoolgirls, wearing t-shirts with rainbows and assorted Disney characters on them. He tries to focus, to act as if he’s interested, as if he’s that twisted, that disgusting.

“And here.” Prior clicks another button and Eliot can’t look at the screen anymore. He can’t see these little girls posed as if they’re women, naked on beds, tears in their eyes. “They’re all pure. Yours for the taking. So to speak.”

“How much?”

“Ah. Well. This...special service is extra. Unsoiled as they are.”

“Naturally.” Eliot meets Prior’s gaze. “How much?”

“For how many?”

“One to start. Make sure your product lives up to the hype. If everything goes well... Well, I always have friends to entertain.”

“Very well.” Prior pulls out a card and writes on it before handing it to Eliot. There’s a price with a hell of a lot of zeros, and another number. “I expect it in my bank by tomorrow morning so I know you’re serious. And I’m sure you’ll understand if one of my men keeps you company tonight. Can’t be too cautious.”

“No. You can’t.”

**

Parker opens the back door of the limo for Eliot, then shuts it before Prior’s goon can get in. Eliot rolls down the window in time to see her smile at his brick wall of a face. “Mr. Abraham insists the help ride up front. He’s very particular like that.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He has company, you understand.”

Eliot rolls up the window and leans back against the seat, wondering if Parker simply read his expression or just assumed something had gone wrong once his comm had gone dead. The divider window is up, the dark glass giving Eliot enough privacy to cough instead of gagging.

“You okay, man?”

“I need 120 million. By tomorrow morning. I’m sending you the routing number.”

“A hundred and tw- a what?”

“Just do it, Hardison. So we can nail this son-of-a-bitch to the wall.”

“You expect me to come up with that kind of money?”

“He’s selling little girls, Hardison. So yes, I expect you to come up with that kind of damn money. I expect you to do your job so that we can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else ever again. So that these little girls get a childhood. So they don’t end up traumatized and broken. So find the goddamned money.”

Hardison goes quiet. Everyone’s quiet. Eliot closes his eyes tightly, trying to swallow everything down. Hardison clears his throat. “I’ll have it there by morning.”

“Thank you. Now I’m going to the hotel, I’m going to figure out a way to knock out my babysitter without him knowing it, and then I’m going to empty the contents of my stomach until there’s nothing left. I’ll send Parker with the details.” He takes a small leather notebook from his inside pocket and writes down the dimensions of the room, the type of shielding he saw, the keystrokes he memorized. The conversations of the team start up again, but he tunes them out as much as he can.

“How do you feel about a drinking contest?”

Tim’s voice stands out, the one Eliot’s not used to. “Little busy right now.”

“I meant you and your babysitter. From what I remember, you’re pretty good at drinking people under the table. Especially if the waiter brings you something special for your competition.”

“I’ll have to call room service. See if it lives up to the hype.”

**

Tim brings the tray into the room, head down and eyes averted. He sets it on the table, sliding a glass in front of Eliot. “One of our finest Kentucky blends, sir.”

Eliot looks at the label then narrows his eyes as he looks at Tim. “Larceny Bourbon?”

“Considered one of the best in the state.”

“Well, by all means, pour away.” He mutters ‘asshole’ into his comm and sees Tim bite back a grin. Nate says something about old friends knowing you best that Eliot chooses to ignore and sips the bourbon. Tim’s not wrong. “Very nice.”

“Thank you, sir.” He pours a second glass for Prior’s man then bows, replacing the bottle on the tray. Eliot sips his bourbon, watching his babysitter do the same. Eliot has no idea what Tim put in the glass, but it works fast and the guy’s slumped on the table before Eliot’s even finished his drink.

“I’m clear. You guys talk to me.”

“The money’s ready to go in the morning. I don’t want to give him a chance to take it and run.” Hardison sounds tired, but Eliot knows it’s because of what he said earlier, because he’d snapped at him, lashed out. Eliot tries hard not to do that to his team, but he doesn’t always succeed. “Parker’s almost inside. I’m going in to hack the system. Tim’s gonna play Eliot.”

“Tim’s a sniper, not a hitter.”

“Sophie’s keeping Prior busy. Nate’s setting up the final phase. It’s gonna be fine. We’ve got it.”

“Gutterson.”

“Don’t worry, Eliot. I’ll take care of your team.”

“You’d better.”

Eliot scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. He’s tempted to stuff this guy in a closet and head over to Prior’s office. He can’t run the risk though, so he sits on the floor and breathes, keeping himself calm and centered as he listens to them all talking their way through it. His heartbeat changes whenever he hears them talking to Tim, telling him to do Eliot’s job.

Eliot knows he’s damn good at what he does. He also knows that, unlike the rest of them, he’s replaceable. Quinn could actually work with the team in ways that Chaos couldn’t, Tara can’t. He’d want them to have Quinn. He’s almost as good as Eliot. Almost as fast, almost as sharp. Tim is good, but he’s not a hitter. He’s finesse. Distance. 

“Shit.” He gets up from the floor and heads to the bathroom. He shuts the bathroom door then strips before turning the shower on high and pulling out his ear-bud. Steam rises, curling up the walls and over the ceiling. Eliot stares up at it and then climbs into the shower, water pounding against his skin almost too hot to take.

He lets it beat against his bruises and scars, heat seeping into aching muscles and joints. He tilts his head back and lets it thunder over him, hair in his face, sound distorted as the water runs over his ears. He stays there under the spray until he feels the heat of his reddened skin stronger than the heat of the water. He turns the handle and leans against the wall, inhaling the scalding air.

There’s a cool to the air and he can see the darkness of the open door. “You’d better have something good to tell me.”

Tim raises an eyebrow as Eliot opens the shower. “You’re very pretty.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s true though.” Tim takes a step closer and shuts the bathroom door, locking out the colder air and locking in the remnants of the steam. “Well, maybe not pretty.” 

“My team?”

“Promise. If anything happened to them, I’d lead with it.” He puts his hand in the center of Eliot’s chest and pushes him back to the wall. “They’re good.”

“The best.”

Tim drops his gaze, letting it trail down Eliot’s body. “Christ, Eliot.”

“How strong was the drug you gave him?”

Tim doesn’t answer in words, simply sinks down to his knees and rubs his hands up Eliot’s thighs to his hips, nuzzling at Eliot’s cock. Eliot clenches his thighs and lets his head drop back. Tim rubs Eliot’s cock with his cheek, his jaw, pressing his nose against the base of Eliot's balls. Eliot reaches down and strokes his hand through Tim’s hair. Tim’s laugh is rough and throaty and Eliot's cock hardens from the sound as well as the touch.

Tim slides a hand up Eliot’s stomach, stroking a rough thumb over the overheated skin just below his navel. He catches some of Eliot’s pubic hair in his teeth and tugs, and Eliot groans roughly. Tim gives another laugh and Eliot shivers, feeling Tim’s teeth scrape against his skin, barely there but enough. 

Tim licks the underside of Eliot’s dick, then leans in to suck the base of it where the skin is stretched tight between his cock and his balls. Tim takes it in his mouth and moves up and down the short expanse of skin. Eliot presses his fists against the wall, clenching his teeth together so he won’t make a noise.

Tim’s lips and tongue give way to his teeth and he nips the skin, shattering Eliot’s plan and forcing a rough gasp from him. He goes back to his mouth and sucks along the skin again and then works his way up, sucking hot spots along Eliot’s dick until he reaches the head, tracing the ridge of it with his tongue. 

Eliot watches, unable to look away as Tim looks up at him. Tim swipes his tongue across the tip and pulls away, letting the string of pre-come stretch between his mouth and Eliot’s cock. He licks his lips and then sucks the taste of it off his tongue, humming softly.

Eliot’s eyes narrow, lashes brushing his cheeks. His cock is hard, curved up toward his stomach, muscles twitching and straining toward Tim. Tim moves closer taking the very tip of Eliot’s dick into his mouth, sucking on the slick head surrounding the slit. It’s tight and almost too hard, painful in a way that makes Eliot rise up onto the balls of his feet. 

Tim hums again and then parts his lips, finally letting Eliot’s cock slide deep. Eliot’s entire body shudders, and Tim grabs his hips, pinning Eliot to the wall. Eliot can feel every swallow as Tim sucks on him, can feel the pressure of Tim’s tongue, the roof of his mouth. Tim takes him deep and then takes him deeper, sucking hard. He breathes through his nose, the hot air making Eliot shiver when it comes in contact with his wet cock when Tim pulls back. 

He releases Eliot’s hips and lets one hand slide down, cupping Eliot’s balls and squeezing. His fingers wrap around Eliot perfectly, just enough pressure that jolts of heat sting through Eliot’s body. He’s hot and cold, lightheaded from the steam and the high-pressure, hot-water beating his muscles took. He holds the sides of Tim’s head, holds him still, as he rocks his hips forward.

Tim relaxes around Eliot, letting him fuck into his mouth. Eliot watches his cock disappear between Tim’s wet, pink lips. He holds him there, not letting him move away as Eliot thrusts in, thrusts deeper. He can feel himself hitting the back of Tim’s throat, can feel the impulse to gag clench around him. Instead Tim sucks harder, his hands venturing to Eliot’s ass, digging his nails into Eliot’s skin.

Eliot’s hips jerk hard and he comes, mid-thrust, pulling back and spilling over Tim’s lips, down his chin. He looks even more debauched, staring up at Eliot with tear-stained lashes and a hot, messy, swollen mouth. Eliot sinks down to his knees, shoving Tim onto his back. His head narrowly misses the toilet, and the sound of it on the tile is surprisingly loud in the quiet. 

Eliot straddles Tim’s thighs and undoes his jeans. Even like this, his hands are sure, and he strips the denim down to Tim’s upper thighs, tugs his boxer briefs down over his cock, letting them settle at the base of it, waistband tight over his balls. Eliot leans forward and braces himself on one hand, staring down at Tim as he wraps his other hand around Tim’s dick. Tim licks his lips, as good as a dare, and Eliot starts stroking.

His hand is tight around Tim, and the smooth skin slides and catches on his rough hands. Tim moans as Eliot jerks him, as rough and dirty as they’ve ever done, even hiding in the mountains of North Korea. Tim’s back arches and his mouth falls open, his breath shallow and desperate. Eliot leans in and kisses Tim, fucking his mouth with his tongue as easily as he had with his dick. Tim tastes like come, Eliot still wet on his skin. 

It doesn’t take long for Tim’s body to tense, muscles straining for a few heartbeats before he comes in Eliot’s hand. Milky white stains darken Tim’s t-shirt and he shivers as Eliot keeps stroking him, until Tim’s a ragged bundle of over-sensitized nerves. He manages to shove Eliot away, and Eliot drops onto his back on the floor next to him. 

Eliot turns his head. “Tell me you didn’t have your ear-bud in.”

Tim shakes his head. “Hardison made me give it back.” 

Glancing up at his on the counter, Eliot sighs. “Thank you, Hardison.”

**

Eliot knocks on the top of Prior’s goon’s head. “Wake up, sunshine.” He watches the man blink and flinch from the sunlight. “You, my friend, cannot handle your booze.”

“It’s morning?”

“Bright and early. There’s coffee on the table. You can handle, coffee, right?”

The guy ignores Eliot and pours himself a cup, smelling it before he takes a drink. It’s shitty room coffee, but it should wake the guy up. There’s a knock on the door and Parker lets herself in, dressed in her chauffeur outfit. “Hey. There’s a newspaper and everything out here. This place is fancy.”

“Thank you. Yes.” Eliot takes the paper from her and goes back to the bedroom, looking at himself in the mirror as he buttons up his dress shirt. He can feel Parker watching him, and he glances over his shoulder. “Help you?”

“You’re all fancy.”

“Parker, you’re not acting like an employee. Stop staring.”

“Oh. Right.” She tips her cap to him, then goes back into the main room of the suite. 

Eliot blows out a breath and finishes with his shirt, tucking it into his slacks. He leaves the tie hanging around his neck untied and pulls his jacket on, adjusting it so that it doesn’t feel so confining. “Are we set, Hardison?”

“Yeah. Money’s ready to go into the account as soon as you give me the go-ahead. The Marshals are going to be all around the site once we get that info as well, looking for the girls. We got names and dates and account numbers of all Prior’s clients. We’re busting his ass.”

“Okay. I’ll text when it’s a go.”

“Okay.” He’s quiet for a minute and Eliot sighs, doing up his tie. “Hey, Eliot?”

“Yeah.”

“I really want to destroy this guy.”

“You and me both, Hardison.” He glances at his watch. “Showtime.”

**

He gets a text from Prior as they get to the car, no doubt prompted by a text from his muscle. He gives Parker the address, making sure it gets to Hardison as well. Eliot knows they’re tracking the GPS, but he feels better knowing they’ll know _ahead of time_ where this is all going down.

They drive out into the middle of nowhere, only a few houses here and there sprinkled across the land. It all looks abandoned, like whatever life used to be there just packed up and moved away. He can hear Nate and Tim coordinating the Marshals, he can hear Raylan’s voice in the background giving orders. Tim said Raylan knows the land in Harlan better than anyone, that this is where he’s from. Eliot just hopes he knows places to hide.

Parker turns down a dusty lane, bumping the way up the drive until a cabin comes into sight. It’s torn up in a way that makes it look like it’s been riddled with bullets, and as they pass it, Eliot can see that’s exactly what happened.

Fuck, he hates Kentucky.

“Lovely place your boss has, here.”

“Shut up.” The goon doesn’t look at Eliot and Eliot keeps his eyes to the front as he hears the gun click. And click. 

Eliot glances down at the gun and then back up at the guy. “Not a fan of guns. Your clip is back at the hotel. If your boss is that worried, maybe I don’t need to be doing business with him.”

“I don’t care what you need.” The car pulls to a stop outside a barn behind a line of other expensive cars. “Get out.”

“I didn’t realize this was a shopping mall.”

“You’ll get the goods. Get what you pay for. Boss just likes a little insurance. Likes to see the faces of the men and women he’s dealing with. Likes them to see each other’s faces so everyone’s got something to lose, and not just if the boss goes down.” He gestures toward the door. “Get out.”

Eliot gets out of the car, tapping on Parker’s door as he walks by. She tugs the bill of her cap down and sinks down into the seat, eyes closed and probably already half asleep. Eliot follows Prior’s man through the barn and down a small slope to a raised mound of dirt, a rough hewn door hinged into a beaten up wooden frame. 

“Get your guy on the phone.”

“You want me to pay before I see the merchandise?”

“Get him on the phone. As soon as the transfer goes through, you go inside. If you don’t like the rules, you don’t have to play the game. Of course, that means you lose by default.” He cracks his knuckles and then his neck. “It’s not good to lose.”

Eliot pulls out his phone despite the overwhelming temptation to put his fist through this guy’s face. He calls Hardison, but before he can say anything the goon grabs the phone. “You’ve got fifteen seconds to get the money into the account. A second longer and your boss here is a dead man.”

“Don’t worry. Your money’s already on its way.” Hardison’s voice is calm and flat, the faintest hint of an accent Eliot knows isn’t actually an accent anyone on Earth has in his voice. “Done.”

The guy looks at his own phone and then slams Eliot’s phone into the door. The glass shatters and the phone drops to the ground, the guy grinding it under his foot. “Right this way, Mr. Abraham.”

Eliot waits until he unlocks the iron lock on the door and then follows him inside. The air smells like damp earth as they walk down the steps, the walls smooth with age, but still looking like a single mine explosion could bring the whole thing down on top of them. There’s a string of lights that sways in the hallway and they turn two corners before a wider space opens up. Prior is there in the middle of the room, glancing around like he’s won the lottery. At 120 million each, Eliot supposes he sort of has. 

There are ten other men in the room, all of them looking discomfited by the situation they’re in. Prior nods at Eliot. “Now that we’re all here, we can conduct our business. Mr. Sparks.” One of the guys on the opposite side of the room from Eliot nods. “Your generous donation to my foundation was received. As a thank you gift, I’d like to present you with Kelly.”

She’s fifteen if she’s a day, and Eliot clenches his fists to keep his cool. She looks dazed and hungry, she’s probably been starved and, if the way she’s blinking at the light is any indication, kept in the dark. Sparks smiles and Eliot’s stomach twists. “Hello, Kelly.”

Kelly looks at him and moves behind him, off to his side. Sparks smiles happily and nods at Prior. Prior goes around the room, all of the men receiving their appreciation gifts for their donations. There’s not a girl over sixteen if Eliot’s guess is right, and several of them are likely under twelve. 

“And, last but not least, the newest member of my proud supporters.” He smiles at Eliot. “Something special for your first time. Very special.” He snaps his fingers and a little girl walks out. She looks like she should be at home watching cartoons and playing with stuffed animals. She’s maybe ten. Maybe. “Mr. Abraham. This is Sarah.”

Eliot swallows and gives her a smile, hoping that he’s not scaring her. He has a feeling she’s too numb to be scared. “C’mere, Sarah. You stand right here beside me, okay?”

Prior smiles and claps his hands. “Excellent. I think our business here is concluded, gentlemen. I’ll be sure to send invitations to my next fundraiser.” He starts to walk out, stopping when he hears someone yell out, “U.S. Marshal Service.” Eliot hears a shot and then Prior’s backing into the room again, gun in hand. Suddenly, his body jerks back, red blossoming from his shoulder. Eliot ducks and shelters Sarah, keeping her out of the way of the gunfire and the hysteria of the other men and girls.

Tim, Raylan, and the rest of their crew walk in in Kevlar vests, guns drawn. Eliot stands up, his own hands raised in surrender. One of the women officers calls the girls over to her, and they hurry away, numbness worn off now and replaced with fear.

Each of the men is forced against the wall, hands zip-tied together behind their backs. Eliot stands back, watching everything until someone grabs his shoulder and shoves him face-first into the wall. “Hands.”

Eliot turns his head, brow furrowed. “What the hell, Tim?”

Tim shakes his head. “I’m always faithful too, Eliot. To my country. You’re under arrest.”

**

He’s got three sets of zip ties on him – one at the wrists, one at the forearms and one at his elbows. His shoulders ache from the stretch and he’s up to the 568th way he plans on killing Tim, each one more gruesome than the last. All the other men are being booked on charges of sex trafficking, child pornography, and whatever else the Marshals can come up with. Eliot can smell the lawyers when they descend in droves, shutting their clients up.

Tim stops by the cell and leans against the bars. “Hey.”

“Hey? Really?” Eliot snarls. “I’m gonna rip your throat out.”

“You’re a wanted man, Spencer.” He holds two of the ear-buds in his hand. “I told your friends they should leave town. They’ve all got prices on their heads too.”

“I’m not actually wanted in the US.” Eliot’s voice hurts his throat it’s so hot with anger and burning from trying to keep any sense of betrayal out of his words. 

“Splitting hairs.” Tim shakes his head. “You know what the problem was? What the difference between us was?”

“I’m not a double-crossing bastard?”

“You liked it.” Tim closes his hand around the ear-buds and puts it in his pocket. “Over there. Some of us did what we had to. Did the mission. Did the job. You liked it.”

“I never liked it.” This time Eliot’s voice is raw, and he knows he doesn’t manage to keep the hurt out of it. “I did it. I did things I shouldn’t have. But if you think I _liked_ it? You really are proving the stereotype of dumb soldier.”

Tim sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. We’re gonna ship you up to Lexington tomorrow. They’re better equipped to hold you.”

“You’re going to leave me like this all night?”

“Turn around.”

Eliot does, backing up toward the bars. He feels Tim’s hand on his shoulders and he’s about to reach back when he feels a muzzle pressed to the back of his head. “Now, now.” Raylan’s drawl is dry as dust. “I try to make it a rule not to kill Tim’s friends, since he has so few. So maybe you’d better just behave yourself, so that I don’t have to make an exception.”

Eliot jerks his head away from the gun, the rest of his body still as Tim cuts the zip ties on Eliot’s elbows and forearms. He waits for a beat, giving Tim the opportunity to unfuck the situation and cut the last strip of plastic, moving away when it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t look back at Tim. He sinks down onto the floor in a cross-legged position and closes his eyes, breathing in and then out, slowing the heavy angry beat of his heart until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to shake apart.

**

By Eliot’s account, it’s been at least four hours by the time Tim comes back to his cell again. Eliot’s muscles are cold and stiff from being on the floor and not moving, but he’s careful not to let it show as he stands up. His arms flex, pulling at the restraints. “You sure you want to be here, Marshal.”

Tim exhales. “It’s not personal.”

“No? That mean someone’s paying you for this? How much did I net you?”

“This is my job, Eliot.”

“No. Your job is to catch scum like Prior. Like the men who buy what he’s selling. Your job is putting away the man I _was_. I’m not that man anymore, and you know it.” Eliot shakes his head which pulls at his shoulders. His hands feel sore and swollen, his wrists numb, though he can still feel the plastic cutting into his skin.

“We did catch them.”

“Thanks to _us_. You wouldn’t have been able to touch them otherwise, and you know it. Is that what this is? You guys didn’t actually do the legwork, so now your buddy Raylan needs a feather in his cap? Needs to look good?”

“This isn’t about Raylan.”

Eliot walks up to the bars, refusing to look away from Tim. “You used me. Our friendship.”

“We’re not really friends, Eliot.”

“I guess not. I guess we’re not a lot of things.” He scoffs, though the sound could be taken as a low laugh. “Take this zip tie off of me. And I need to call my lawyer.”

“I told your crew. I’m sure they’re hiring someone for you.”

“You know, I may not be a lawman, but I’m pretty damn sure you’re violating a hell of a lot of civil liberties here, Marshal.” Eliot sneers the last word. “I haven’t actually been charged with anything, so I do still get those, don’t I? Isn’t _that_ the law?”

“Turn around.”

Eliot turns, his hands falling apart naturally as Tim cuts through the plastic. He looks at the three-quarter circles dug into his skin, then rotates his wrists until an ache cuts through the lack of feeling. He curls his fingers in toward his palm and turns, jabbing the heel of his hand into Tim’s throat. 

Tim falls back out of Eliot’s reach. He coughs and clears his throat. His voice is rough when he speaks. “I’ll give you that one for free.”

“I _took_ that one,” Eliot says, his voice little more than a growl. “Get the hell out of here, or I won’t be so nice next time.”

“Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

“You mean for you.”

Tim raises one shoulder, half a shrug that they both know is agreement. “For both of us.”

“Think about who we are and what we do. You really think this is the right move?”

“You go after the bad guys. I’m not doing anything wrong or unethical. Like I said – just doing my job.” He rubs his throat. “Food’ll be here in a few minutes. Doubt it will meet your standards.” Eliot ignores him, walking around the cell and swinging his arms back and forth to stretch the shoulders. Tim exhales roughly. “I’m sorry, Eliot.”

Eliot doesn’t pause in his circuit of the small space. Tim waits for a few minutes, leaving the hallway when the food comes. Eliot doesn’t watch him go.

**

The transport truck is outside when Tim and Raylan escort Eliot from the building. He’s back in the three zip ties, his arms trapped behind his back. He looks around for the tell-tale signs of the team, but doesn’t see anything to clue him in to their presence.

Tim steps back as the guard guides Eliot in to one of the benches. Raylan stays in the doorway, smacking the frame with his hand. “Real pleasure meeting you, Spencer.”

Eliot scowls at him. “What do you say we have a little contest. See for sure which one of us is faster and has better aim.”

“Tim says you don’t like guns anymore.”

“Don’t.” It’s clear from Raylan’s expression that he expects more of an answer, but Eliot looks away, officially dismissing him. Raylan laughs and Eliot sees him tip his hat in his peripheral vision. He shuts the door and raps on it, calling out to the driver. 

Tim looks through the grated opening between the front seats and shakes his head at the guard. “Don’t bother with the gun. If it gets to a point where you’d have to shoot him, he’d already have you disarmed. He’s just doing his job too, Spencer.”

Eliot scoots forward slightly on the bench and leans back so he can rest against the side of the truck, trying to keep most of the strain off his shoulders. Eliot just watches the guard who looks more and more nervous as the ride goes on. “How long does it take to get to Lexington?”

The guard jumps at Eliot’s voice. “Uh. Um. It’s about two-and-a-half hours.”

“Marshal! If I promise to be a good boy, can we take these zip ties off? I’d like to actually be able to use my arms when all of this is said and done.”

Tim looks back again and rubs his forehead with his thumb and two fingers. “Go ahead, Carlos. Pretty sure he’s just staying in them to be nice.” Carlos starts to move and Tim snaps his fingers. “Wait.” He looks at Eliot, his eyes sharp and intent. Eliot’s familiar with the look, though usually it’s in a different and more naked context. “Promise.”

“Pardon?” Carlos asks.

“Eliot. Promise to be a good boy.”

Eliot’s slow smile brings a faint blush to Tim’s face. “Oh, yes, Marshal. I promise to be good for you.” His voice is low and suggestive and Tim’s eyes widen slightly. 

“Cut him loose, Carlos.”

There probably wasn’t a slight break in Tim’s voice, but it certainly sounded like there was to Eliot. He turns so Carlos can sever the zip ties, rolling his shoulders as soon as his arms are free. Carlos puts his hand on the butt of his gun, but leaves it snapped in the holster. “Don’t worry, Carlos. I don’t break my promises.”

He’s quiet the rest of the ride, letting the chatter from the front of the truck fade to background noise, and ignoring Carlos’s nervous fidgeting. The outside noises change from the sounds of Harlan to soft road noise in the national forest to the loudness of a bigger city. More cars, more people. Eliot’s not a fan of prisons, and he can feel his whole body tensing as they get closer. 

Carlos’s hand moves back to the gun, and Eliot forces himself to take a deep breath. The truck comes to a halt and Eliot can hear the guards talking, a gate opening. Once they’re inside, it takes a while to get to the prisoner intake area. The truck stops again and Tim looks back. 

“Put the cuffs on him, Carlos.”

Carlos stands and Eliot does the same, turning around so he can be handcuffed. He knows three ways he could easily break them, and five ways to pick them, thanks to Parker. But he doesn’t and Carlos grabs his arm and walks him toward the door. They wait through the locks being opened and then Eliot blinks in the bright Kentucky sun.

By the time Eliot steps out, Tim’s out of the front of the truck and waiting on the prisoner intake platform. Eliot takes a moment to look at Tim. He doesn’t see any signs of smugness or righteousness on Tim’s face. He just sees him looking better than he has a right to in jeans and boots, a white henley and a US Marshal jacket. It pisses Eliot off, given that before he left the Harlan lock-up, they’d given him an outfit of drab gray pajamas and booties. He looks more like he’s going into surgery than going to a prison for holding so he can be remanded for trial.

Tim wraps his hand around Eliot’s bicep as Carlos steps back. “C’mon.”

Eliot jerks his arm free, but keeps walking beside Tim. Tim rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take his arm again. The first gate buzzes open and Eliot goes inside. He’s been in worse places. Worse prisons. He still has to fight the impulse to break the cuffs, smash the gate, and run. The processing starts – fingerprinting, photos. Tim lays out all of Eliot’s belongings – suit and dress shirt, tie and dress shoes – so they catalog them. As far as Eliot’s concerned, they can keep the damn things, but he signs the paper. Another guard walks over and uncuffs him. Eliot doesn’t shake off the hand when the guard grabs him, heading for the next set of doors. 

“You’ll shower and change into the Lexington jumpsuit. They’ll have everything set out for you.”

Eliot looks back at Tim for a long moment. “I won’t forget this.”

Tim nods. “I know.”

**

Eliot showers in the lukewarm water, and it actually feels good, given that he hasn’t had one in more than a day. Just like prisons, he’s had worse showers. Of course, just because it was worse doesn’t mean that this isn’t bad. Eliot’s killed men, and that’s not even the worst of his crimes. He always thought that he’d end up paying for them at the end of a knife blade or staring sightlessly after a gunshot to the head. 

He steps out of the shower with a towel around his waist and Tim’s standing there beside the door. There’s not an orange jumpsuit on the bolted down bench. Instead there’s a neat stack of clothes. His clothes. He can see his jeans and boots, the blue, gold, and green flannel that Parker got him for his birthday. “What’s this?”

“Housekeeping dropped it off.” Tim shrugs. “Said something about a jailbreak.”

“What?”

“People fall through the cracks of the justice system. You know that as well as I do. What if Eliot Spencer was put into Lexington Penitentiary and no one actually thought to take him in front of a judge? What if he was just there? State paying for his room and board rather than a lengthy, messy trial?” Tim shrugs again. “Eliot Spencer. Behind bars. No longer a wanted man.”

“Eliot Spencer behind bars is a target just as much as Eliot Spencer not behind bars is. More of one.”

“He’s in the hole a lot. Can’t stop fighting.” Tim takes a couple of steps forward, still keeping his distance enough that he’d see Eliot move before the attack. “Troublemaker. No big surprise.”

“You could have said something.”

“No. Because I’m breaking a hell of a lot of laws right here, right now. Calling in a lot of favors.” He takes another step forward. Eliot doesn’t move, barely blinks. “Raylan doesn’t know.”

“Raylan doesn’t know a lot of things, does he?”

“No.” Tim swallows and takes another step. They’re close enough to touch, but he can see Eliot glance at the cameras. He smiles slightly and looks at Tim.

“Hardison’s got the cameras.” Eliot says. It’s not a question

“He does. Looped.” Tim doesn’t look away, and Eliot realizes he hasn’t all this time. “I meant it. When I said I was sorry.”

Eliot inhales and looks up at the ceiling before he surges forward, pinning Tim to the wall. He kisses him hard, hands in Tim’s hair. The towel falls over Eliot’s thigh as he works his knee between Tim’s legs, pressing closer to him. It’s pressure and heat, but oddly not sexual. Maybe his brain realizes it can’t be, or maybe it realizes that this is goodbye. He pulls back and licks his lips, catching the towel before it falls completely. They’re both half-hard, Eliot more noticeably so, but he doesn’t need more, and he’s pretty sure Tim doesn’t either. 

“Where do I go from here?”

“That door. It’ll lead you to the exit guard station. You should recognize both of the guards on duty.” Eliot watches Tim’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He feels the same kind of dryness in his own throat, the same breathlessness. “Eliot Spencer is one of the good guys. I have to admit, when you left the service, I never thought I’d say that again. Thought you were too far gone.”

“I was. I was lucky enough that I found people who helped pull me back.” He moves away, drying off before getting dressed. Tim doesn’t leave, doesn’t really move. When he’s back in his unofficial uniform, Eliot feels different. Like taking off someone he was and turning back into who he is now. He walks over to Tim and nods, sticking out his hand to shake. “Marshal.”

Tim grasps it and shakes. “Spencer.” 

When his hand is free, Eliot raises it up to his forehead in a crisp salute. “Sir.”

Tim huffs a soft laugh, but returns the gesture just as sharply. “Soldier.” He drops his arm and Eliot does too. Reaching out, Tim brushes his fingers along the collar of Eliot’s tank top. “Goodbye, Eliot.”

Eliot nods and walks to the door, stopping with his hand raised to knock. He looks back for a moment then turns to the door. “Goodbye, Tim.”

**

Parker smiles at him from underneath a hat that’s slightly too big. “This way.”

“Quit smiling, Parker. Act professional.”

“Nate wouldn’t let me have a night stick.” She mimics slapping one against her palm. “How am I supposed to be a prison guard without a night stick?”

“I don’t know, Parker. We can discuss it on the way home. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

She leads the way down the hall, looking both directions before she puts a key in the lock beneath a white button. She turns it then presses the button and the buzzer goes off. An answering buzz comes and the door unlocks. Parker frees her key and walks over to the door, opening it for Eliot. “This way.”

Sophie’s in the guard station, smiling at Eliot. “Nothing in your personal effects that you were particularly fond of, was there?”

“No.”

“Good.” She drops her hat on the desk and comes around, Her skirt is definitely not regulation, and he shakes his head. Sophie shrugs and smiles wider. “Always use your best assets.”

“Your brain is your best asset, Soph.”

This time she laughs. “I knew I liked you.” She links her arm through his. Parker’s stripped down to one of her climbing outfits, the guard’s uniform on the floor. “Shall we?”

Parker hooks arm thought Eliot’s on the other side. Sophie pushes the door open and Nate’s standing there with the backdoor of the van open. Parker hops inside and then sticks her head back out. “Is it still a getaway car if we’re not actually committing a crime?”

“We are committing a crime, Parker.” Hardison reminds her.

“Oh. Good.” She disappears inside Lucille and Nate helps Sophie in the back. 

“Sit up front with me, Eliot.” 

Nate shuts the rear door and walks to the driver side. Eliot climbs in the passenger seat, wanting nothing more than to be out of the gated yard. “How are we getting out of here?”

“Well, I’m almost positive that Evan Prior...er, Eliot Spencer is going to start a riot in about three... two... one.” He turns the key as an alarm sounds, guards running toward the buildings. Nate drives toward the gate, showing the plastic card on his lanyard to the one guard still at his post. “Civilian contractors. They told us to get out of here when the riot started so we wouldn’t get hurt. Lawsuits, you know. We okay to leave?”

The guard buzzes them through, almost without looking. Nate drives past the gates, and Eliot feels like he can breathe for the first time since he was arrested. Parker’s talking to Hardison about how that’s the longest she’s ever been in a prison, and Sophie starts telling them about the version of “Jailhouse Rock” her old theater troupe put on. Eliot tunes them out, knowing he’s up front with Nate for a reason.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Nate glances over at him before he looks back at the road. “No. Really. You okay?”

“Yeah. Really.” Eliot leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. “Don’t keep many friends in my line of work. He and I are square now.”

“What did he owe you for?”

He turns his head slightly and looks at Nate before turning straight ahead and letting his eyes fall closed again. “You don’t want to know.”

“You’re right,” Nate says as he hits the interstate. “I don’t want to know.”


End file.
